


right field dances

by prettydizzeed



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Teenage Drama, chad centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettydizzeed/pseuds/prettydizzeed
Summary: The party is air conditioned enough that it isn’t sweltering even with the crowd of “youth”—and yeah, some of these partygoers are definitely kids—and they have actual Coke, not just unspiked punch, so it’s not as bad as it could be, Chad figures.And then he steps further inside, and it gets a whole lot worse. Because there is Ryan Evans, corded mic in hand, rocking the rickety platform like it’s a Broadway stage. He’s all glitter and confidence and perfect pitch, which should be horrifying but somehow isn’t, and he looks impossibly happy even on the stained carpet of a makeshift stage, performing for a disinterested crowd.Well. Mostly disinterested.***At a New Year’s Eve party halfway across the country, Chad sees an old classmate in a new light. Little does he know, that’s not the last time his world will be turned upside down this semester.
Relationships: Chad Danforth/Ryan Evans, Troy Bolton & Chad Danforth
Comments: 122
Kudos: 273





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> since i wrote a hsm2 story in 2017 (never danced like this before) and just finished a hsm3 fix-it (I Wanna Dance With Somebody), it seemed high time i wrote a hsm1 chad/ryan fic, so here goes! 
> 
> title is from baseball by hippo campus

It’s shaping up to be a great end to the year: Chad’s made five baskets in a row, and he can tell his dad isn’t going easy on him. Then, of course, his mom walks in. 

“Boys,” she says, rolling her eyes, equal parts fed up and fond, “we did not fly all this way just for you to play more basketball. It’s the last night of vacation, Chad, and your father and I have plans, anyway.” Chad’s dad’s watch beeps on cue. 

“I told you I’d set an alarm, honey,” he says, and Chad’s mom shakes her head, smiling. He hugs Chad, quick and sweaty and proud. “She’s right, I’ve got to go get ready for our late-night reservations; dessert and champagne in a quiet booth is a tradition. You should come shower, too, go to that kids’ party.” 

“Kids’ party?” Chad asks flatly, eyebrows raised. 

“Youth,” his mom says, “and your dad’s right, I don’t want you to be alone in the hotel room on New Year’s Eve, that’s not any fun.” 

Chad shrugs. “I could stay here,” he suggests, dribbling the ball a couple of times for emphasis. “That’s plenty fun.” 

“Nope,” his dad says, his mind made up, “it’ll be good for you. Socialize, enjoy a non-alcoholic beverage, complain about the music with someone you’ll never see again.” 

“Sure, dad,” Chad says, rolling his eyes, “sounds great.” But they know he isn’t as pissed about it as he sounds, and he can’t help laughing a little, anyway.

“That’s the spirit,” his dad says, and his mom informs him that she has two of his dress shirts in her suitcase since she knew he wasn’t going to pack anything but board shorts, to which he responds why would he, they're in Florida, and that’s that: he picks the less stiff of the shirts, dark blue with a white star pattern, and wears it open over a t-shirt that says MY NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION DIED IN COMMITTEE and some black jeans, and he spends as long as he did showering and getting dressed combined on fixing his hair in the mirror, and he pats down his pocket to confirm his room key is still there and waves as his parents get on one elevator going down and he takes another up. 

The youth party isn’t on the roof, because that’d be too cool for reluctant free teen-and-pre-teen programming and also they’d probably need extra security. Instead, it’s on the third-to-highest floor, but it’s air conditioned enough that it isn’t sweltering even with the crowd of “youth”—and yeah, some of these partygoers are _definitely_ kids—and they have actual Coke, not just shitty (and unspiked) punch, so it’s not as bad as it could be, he figures. 

And then he steps further inside, and it gets a whole lot worse. 

Or better. Both, simultaneously, and the conflicting emotions are really tipping the scale towards Pretty Fucking Bad, Actually, but as insistent as they are, he still can’t tear his thoughts away from the half-hearted karaoke setup in the center of the room. Because there is Ryan Evans, corded mic in hand, rocking the rickety platform like it’s a Broadway stage.

Once he gets past the initial horror of someone from East High, and one of the Evans twins in particular—oh, God, which means Sharpay’s probably around here somewhere—crashing his vacation, Chad calms down a bit: he isn’t doing anything embarrassing, or at least, no more embarrassing than Ryan, who is also at this incredibly lame and not-age-appropriate event. In fact, Chad’s arguably winning this round, because he isn’t the one onstage, belting out cliches about new beginnings alongside a quiet and off-key thirteen-year-old. At one point, he’s pretty sure Ryan gives up and takes over the other part’s lines, too. 

He’s good, of course, really good—Chad vaguely remembers seeing him in some show choir thing at a pep rally freshman year and being impressed in a detached, adrenaline-fueled sort of way, but it’s not like he goes to plays regularly (or ever), so it’s been a while. Ryan has, if anything, gotten better with time; he’s all glitter and confidence and perfect pitch, which should be horrifying but somehow isn’t, and he looks impossibly happy even on the stained carpet of a makeshift stage, performing for a disinterested crowd. 

Well. Mostly disinterested.

Chad makes his way closer to the stage, drawn by—curiosity? Schadenfreude? Pure magnetic stage presence?—and, to his horror, finds himself giving a small wave as Ryan steps down from the makeshift stage. Ryan squints for a second; whether it’s from the stage lights or trying to place him, Chad can’t tell.

“Always a pleasure to meet an adoring fan,” Ryan drawls, sarcastic without being mean, “but if you’re going to stagedoor in the future, I prefer daffodils.” 

Chad laughs. “Yeah, I’ll remember that next time. You killed it, though, man.” 

Ryan smiles, small and pleased and more real than Chad’s ever seen him. “Thanks. Mother made me come even though Sharpay decided she’d rather spend the last night of vacation in the hot tub, so. Figured I might as well make the most of it.” 

There’s no other Evans twin lurking in the shadows until the opportune moment, then. Chad tries not to look too relieved, more for the sake of his reputation than any hangups about rudeness. As if to illustrate that point, the next thing out of his mouth is, “You probably scarred that kid for life,” nodding in the direction of the section of the crowd that Ryan’s redheaded duet partner had immediately disappeared into. 

Ryan, thankfully, laughs. “She was terrified to get up there, and the emcee wasn’t letting up, so I told her I’d take the attention off of her.” 

Chad blinks. That’s—surprisingly kind. “Oh.” 

“Worked out well for me,” Ryan says, shrugging, and Chad files that away to think about later, without analyzing too closely why he wants to. 

“I feel a little underdressed,” Chad says after a pause too long for his comfort, and it’s true. His slogan tee would get eaten alive by Ryan’s color-coordinated outfit, which consists of something silver—it’s either a shirt and very flowy pants or a jumpsuit, and Chad really doesn’t want to know which—with little stripes or squares of primary colors in seemingly random places and a bright red hat with a sparkly silver band. 

“Don’t,” Ryan says, “I think it’s cute. Funny.” Chad can’t tell if that’s an amendment or an addition, and he isn’t sure which he’d rather it be. It’s not like he doesn’t know Ryan’s gay—literally everyone knows that, and has since the first day of sixth grade, when he and Sharpay started school after moving to Albuquerque—and it’s not like he doesn’t know he’s bi—been there, done that, passed go and collected a very supportive card that his parents handmade in the correct pride colors—but he’s not sure he wants Ryan to know that. Which maybe makes it an uneven playing field, Chad thinks guiltily, but as far as he knows, Ryan tells Sharpay everything, and he certainly doesn’t trust Sharpay as far as he could throw her, which is nowhere because she’d never let him get close enough to touch her. So. 

He smiles reassuringly to quell Ryan’s obvious _oh fuck am I about to suffer the consequences of this jock thinking I’m hitting on him_ panic, and he says thank you, and he’s trying to think of ways to politely disengage from this interaction that won’t end in profound awkwardness when Ryan runs into him later and sees Chad ditched him to lean against a pole by himself when Ryan blurts, “You wanna check out the roof?” 

“I just,” he continues when Chad raises an eyebrow, “this doesn’t really seem like your scene, and if all these kids start screaming at midnight I’m gonna get a migraine, and Sharpay will eviscerate me if I’m back before 12:30.” 

“I really don’t understand your relationship,” Chad says, and Ryan shrugs. “And I thought the roof access was locked?” 

Ryan pulls his hotel key out of his pocket—an actual, metal key, with a key ring and a fob engraved with the hotel’s name and everything—and holds it up between two fingers. “Not if you’re staying in the penthouse.” 

“Damn, Evans,” Chad says, and Ryan doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it, which is weirdly refreshing. “Okay, fuck it, let’s go to the roof.”

The Florida night is warm, even in almost-January, and humid, and Chad is glad they aren’t still at the party when midnight comes because Ryan was right about it being migraine-inducing; he can hear the other “youth” counting down even from all the way up here. He and Ryan had been standing beside each other in mostly-companionable silence, looking out at the night, but they share a glance now, and Chad wonders if he should kiss him. Reminds himself it would be a very bad idea to kiss him. Is saved from the risk that he might just do it anyway when Ryan holds an arm out questioningly and, at Chad’s nod, gives him a quick side hug. 

“Happy New Year, Chad,” Ryan says. 

“Happy New Year,” Chad echoes. “Do you, uh. I mean, it’s kind of weird that we’ve gone to school together this long and never gotten each other’s number.” 

“Is it?” Ryan says, and Chad can’t tell if he’s teasing him or genuinely surprised. It—well, it doesn’t really seem like Ryan’s got a lot of friends. Or any, aside from Sharpay, who Chad is not really sure counts. 

“Yeah, I mean—here, put yourself in,” Chad says, holding his phone out, and quickly amends, “I mean, only if you want.” Ryan does, and hands Chad his phone, which he can tell just from the feel of it has to be astronomically expensive. Chad puts his name in as DANFORTH #8, which he hopes will make Ryan laugh when he sees it, and does a halfway decent job of taking a contact photo of himself. 

“I should probably go,” Ryan says, looking at the time when they trade phones back, “Wish Sharpay a happy new year and all that.” 

“Yeah,” Chad says, and does not mention that watching Ryan sing just might be the most fun he’s had all break, because they’ve been managing to stave off any crushing awkwardness this long, and it’d be a shame if they broke that streak now. “See you at school.” 

Ryan gives a half-wave, half-salute and heads to the stairs, leaving Chad alone to tip his head back and look at the stars, wondering if he should thank or curse his parents for getting him into this mess.


	2. Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who’s engaged with this fic so far!! i hope you enjoy!

Ms. Darbus, unsurprisingly, does not believe in clean slates or fresh starts or any other New Year’s cliché. She starts the first homeroom of 2007 the same way she has every one before: with a dramatic rant about the horrors of cell phones. Troy, in his infinite obliviousness, chooses this moment to try to get the new girl’s number and winds up only getting himself detention. 

“That’s not possible, Ms. D,” Chad protests, “Troy has practice after school—”

“And you have earned yourself a detention, as well, Mr. Danforth,” she says, unfazed. “Fifteen minutes. Count ‘em.”

“That’ll be difficult for Chad, since he probably can’t count that high,” Taylor says, and Chad rolls his eyes and mouths a good-natured  _ Fuck you  _ at her out of Darbus’s line of sight. 

“Fifteen minutes for you, as well, Miss McKessie,” Darbus says, and Taylor gasps, affronted. “Anyone else? The drama club could certainly use the assistance.” Out of the corner of his eye, Chad sees Sharpay smirk. 

He cuffs Troy on the back of the head and hisses, “Your dad is going to kill us.” Darbus narrows her eyes at him, but the universe must take pity on him, because he’s saved by the bell. 

“See you in detention,” Chad says as Troy lingers to talk to the new girl. “I sure hope that was worth it.”

He was being sarcastic, but the annoying thing is, Troy looks like he really thinks it was. 

The plus side to Darbus’s dubiously legal student labor system, Chad learns, is that Monday detention overlaps with the first fifteen minutes of drama club meetings. Before New Year’s, he never would’ve thought of this as a positive thing, because that many theater kids in one place is terrifying and also fucking  _ loud,  _ but like, he hasn’t worked up the guts to text Ryan, so staring from across the room while he paints silver onto a massive wooden moon is the next best thing. 

Troy, for his part, is hiding inside a tree, probably texting the new girl. Figures. 

When Chad looks up from the set piece again, Ryan has left Sharpay to boss around the freshmen to her heart’s content and is walking right towards him. 

“Hey,” Ryan says, leaning to look at Chad’s handiwork. “Nice, uh, craters.”

“I believe there’s an expression about watching paint dry,” Chad says, and Ryan laughs. 

“Not a great start to the new year, huh?”

“Hey, my year started off great,” Chad says without thinking, and Ryan blushes. “But yeah, I am not looking forward to the walk of shame back to the basketball court.” 

“Yikes,” Ryan says, wincing. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. The championship game is in two weeks. Troy could not have picked a worse time to test Darbus’s patience; Coach is going to majorly flip his shit.” Chad hastily adds more paint to his brush when he notices Ms. Darbus look up from her folder.

“God, I’m sorry,” Ryan says, looking like he means it. “If it helps, Sharpay is totally flaking on our rehearsal tonight, and auditions are in two days, so I’ll be practicing along to the CD and trying not to scream.” 

“I hear that’s bad for the vocal cords,” Chad agrees, and Ryan laughs. “Good luck at your audition.” He and Sharpay probably don’t need it, but it seems like the nice thing to say. 

“Thanks,” Ryan says, smiling brightly, and Chad is glad he said it. “It’s during free period on Wednesday, if you wanted to come watch.” He looks surprisingly hesitant, which is honestly kind of sweet. Chad has never seen Ryan Evans look anything but perfectly in his element before. 

“Sorry, dude, I’ll probably have practice then, we’re trying to put as much time in as we can before the game. But thanks for inviting me.” He’s surprised at himself, now, too, because he actually means it, and who would have thought he’d be regretting having to shoot free throws instead of watch a bunch of teenagers embarrass themselves onstage?

Well, except Ryan. Ryan is probably genetically incapable of giving anything other than a brilliant performance, and for the first time in his high school career, Chad wants to see it. He’s thought way more than he should about the half of Ryan’s karaoke act that he caught, how vibrant and alive he looked even under the absolutely atrocious lighting. It’s kind of a problem.

Thankfully, Darbus releases them before Chad can do anything too embarrassing, with a lecture about the evils of technology that she doesn’t even have the decency to abridge knowing they’re about to get chewed out by Coach Bolton, too. 

Which they do. At length.

“Whatever you did to tick her off, don’t even think about doing it again until after the game,” he finishes, and Chad nods. 

“Yes, sir.”

“It wasn’t Chad’s fault,” Troy says, because he’s a decent person when he isn’t being a dick. “He was just trying to defend me.”

“Because you’re a team,” Coach says, and launches into a much less excruciating speech about supporting one another and giving it their all. 

After what feels like eons but according to the large clock on the gym wall was actually about eight minutes, he finally lets them play. Chad’s muscles rejoice at the movement just as his mind does at the distraction. He throws himself into the rhythm of the game and doesn’t think about Ryan Evans or Troy’s crush on the new girl or Darbus’s anti-cell phone vendetta for the next hour and a half. 

_ coach was pissed, but he didnt make us do suicides, thank god,  _ Chad texts Ryan in the car after his mom picks him up from practice.  _ hows the singing going? _

_ i don’t think i want to know what that is,  _ Ryan responds, and then, a few minutes later,  _ send me your email and see for yourself?  _

Chad does, and as soon as they get home, he rushes to shower so he can get on the family desktop. Ryan has sent him an audio file of him singing a duet with a pre-recorded partner, something sappy and slow and, in Chad’s opinion, kind of boring. But it’s a lot better than the showtunes his mom puts on when they’re cleaning the house, less pretentious; its only fault is that it’s too earnest, in a way that gives him an unsettling secondhand embarrassment, not that it’s fake.

And Ryan’s voice is, of course, incredible. Not that Chad knows much about these kinds of things, but it’s obvious. Listening to him makes something in Chad’s chest warm.

_ you sound great,  _ he texts, and Ryan sends back  _ thank u!!! :-) _

Chad looks up from smiling at his phone and downloads the file onto his iPod. He maybe plays it on repeat a few times, or maybe a little bit more than a few times, while doing his homework that day and the next. 

Two things happen on Tuesday that make Chad think “What alternate dimension did I wander into after Christmas break” at the time and “Holy shit I’m going to fucking kill Troy” in retrospect on Wednesday. The first is that at lunch, Troy says, “So Sharpay was talking to me at detention yesterday,” and Chad makes a comment about him being shocked Troy made it out alive, and Troy shrugs and says she had some pointers on how to get Gabriella’s attention. (Gabriella is, apparently, the name of the new girl, which Chad learned when Troy freaked out to him about her before homeroom Tuesday morning and by Tuesday afternoon is certain he will never forget as long as he lives, he’s had to hear it so much.)

The second is that Troy skips practice for the first time in his life. 

“Again?” Coach asks, and Chad shakes his head—Troy didn’t get detention today. No one knows where he is. 

They run the drills like usual, or try to, but the whole team is off-balance, and Chad spends every second thinking about how there will be college scouts at the championship game. It’s one thing for Troy to decide on a whim to fuck up his own future, but all of theirs? That’s not fair, and Chad can feel his anger in every bounce of the ball.

He figures Troy will get over whatever caused him to temporarily take leave of his senses today and things will go back to normal. He’s wrong.

On Wednesday, Chad checks his phone in the locker room with two minutes left of free period and sees three texts from Ryan:

12:06 PM  _ did u know about this????? _

12:07 PM  _ srry that was rlly accusatory im just fraeking outt  _

12:23 PM  _ sorry again 4 earlier. 4 context since im pretty sure u wouldnt know: sharpay ditched me @ the audition. 2 sing with troy.  _

He sprints all the way to the auditorium. 

“—am sorry, but singles auditions are over, and there are simply no other pairs,” Darbus is saying, unflinching even to her favorite student. 

Chad’s mom is always telling him to think before he opens his mouth, and for the first time, he figures he should’ve listened to her, because what comes out is, “I’ll sing with him.” 

The jaws of all four people in the theater, Chad included, drop. Distantly, Chad notes that the bell is ringing, and he’s definitely going to be late for biology, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even entirely feel present in his body, observing from somewhere far away with equal parts horror and curiosity at how this will play out.

“Well, Mr. Danforth,” Ms. Darbus says, collecting herself, “your generosity is admirable, but I’m afraid the time frame for auditions has ended.” She says some other stuff about punctuality being a vital tenet of the theater and whatever, but Chad isn’t really listening; he’s too distracted by Ryan, who looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

Chad nods vaguely when Darbus is done talking, which must be acceptable enough because she wishes him a good day and sweeps off with a flip of her shawl that doesn’t even seem passive-aggressive. Chad walks to the front of the auditorium. 

“I’m going to kill Troy,” he says, because it’s true: best friend since kindergarten or not, they play the West High Knights in a week and a half, and Chad has so much riding on this he wants to scream if he thinks about it too long. And that was before Troy missed practice and decided to fuck off to the drama department. “I’m so sorry,” he says next, because he doesn’t know for sure, but he’s pretty sure Ryan has a lot riding on this, too. Not in the same way—everyone knows the Evanses are made of money, he could definitely go to college without a scholarship—but still in some sort of way that matters a lot to him. Plus, he looks like he’s going to cry, and it’s kind of breaking Chad’s heart. 

At that moment, the girl who’s been sitting at the piano stands up, looking like she’s going for a one-armed hug with the other hand full of sheet music, and promptly falls. 

“Shit, are you okay?” Chad asks, scrambling to help pick up her papers when she nods. Ryan wraps her in his arms, tucking his face into her neck. Chad looks away, unsure if he should still be here. Maybe he should’ve just texted back and gone straight to class; he doesn’t really know Ryan all that well, not like this girl clearly does. 

“I didn’t even get to sing your song,” Ryan says, sniffling. He twists his head to look at Chad, still leaning on her. “Kelsi wrote the music for the show,” Ryan explains, and it’s a small victory, but Chad is relieved to not have to ask her name. “Sharpay and Troy totally butchered it.” 

“God, it was pretty horrific, huh?” Kelsi says, and it sounds like she might be crying a little bit, too. “You know what? You will get to sing today, and I will get to play the duet the way it’s supposed to sound.” She straightens her shoulders, pointing Ryan in the direction of his water bottle, and suddenly she’s a force to be reckoned with. Chad doesn’t even think to argue when she beckons him over. 

“Can you sight read?” she asks, and Chad shakes his head—he doesn’t even know what that means, so it’s a safe bet that he can’t do it—and her face falls. 

He really hates that today keeps piling on the disappointments, which is why he says, “I’m familiar with the song, though.”

It works: Kelsi’s face lights up. Ryan, who has finished drinking water and appears to have mostly composed himself, looks at him curiously, but that’s a problem for Chad to avoid dealing with later. Right now, Kelsi’s fingers are resting elegantly over the keys, and when she starts to play and Ryan sings, “It’s hard to believe that I couldn’t see that you were always there beside me,” Chad comes in right on cue. 

It’s not that he  _ can’t  _ sing; he was in church choir for a few years, he knows how to stay on-key even if he can’t name what key he’s in. It’s just that he doesn’t like to, aside from “Happy Birthday” and belting in the shower when he knows his parents aren’t home. He’s nowhere near as technically proficient as Ryan, but he doesn’t commit whatever the musical equivalent of a moving pick is, either, so he’s a little more comfortable on the next line. It helps that Ryan is singing the rest with him; Chad can focus on his voice, which sounds even better than it did on the recording Chad’s listened too entirely too many times. 

Somehow, they end up looking at each other as they sing the end of the chorus, which makes Chad’s stomach twist itself into an unnatural shape. It’s not as poetic-slash-cheesy as it could’ve been—if they’d had this staring into each other’s eyes moment during the first verse, he’s not sure what he would’ve done, because the opening lines are way more applicable to their dynamic than this stuff about never having someone who knows me like you do—but it’s pretty damn close, and Chad is both relieved and disappointed when Kelsi hits the final note. 

He’s about to clear his throat and probably say something incredibly awkward when they’re interrupted.

Who knows why Darbus came back to the auditorium. Maybe she left some papers, maybe she likes to practice her scoldings in the dressing room mirror, maybe a meddling musical theater deity whispered in her ear that she wouldn’t want to miss this. Whatever the reason, she waltzes in and looks them square in the eye and says, “Danforth! Evans! You have a callback. Kelsi, give them the duet from the second act,” and then she turns on a sensible heel and walks right back out. 

Ryan is gasping and folding his hands over his mouth like he’s going to cry again, but in a good way this time, and Kelsi is detailing the intricacies of her availability, which seems to be all the time, and Chad is still struggling to process that yeah, the past ten minutes of his life did in fact actually happen, and also he’s still kind of tingling from how Ryan was looking at him earlier, but he figures he should go ahead and say it. 

“Uh, guys?” 

Kelsi and Ryan look at him. 

“What’s a callback?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’re interested in more DCOMs made gay, i’ve posted a Halloweentown fic titled “the other side of want”! the fandom is like 4 people and a pile of candy corn, so i really appreciate anyone who wants to check it out <3 
> 
> thank you for reading! i’m on tumblr @campgender if you want to say hi!


	3. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who’s been reading so far!! happy new year & i hope y’all enjoy :)

Chad Danforth is going to end up inside some middle-aged mom’s refrigerator. 

Not, like, literally—he shudders at how fucking creepy that would be—but his picture. He can kiss his dreams of his cereal boxes outselling Troy’s goodbye, is the point.

At least his mom will put the photographic evidence of his stint as a theater kid on the _outside_ of the fridge. The fact that he’s considering that a good thing really says a lot about what his life is coming to. 

For starters: Sharpay’s ear-splitting scream echoing down the school hallway, and the clack of her hot pink heels headed in what sounds dangerously like his direction. “Danforth!” she snaps, and he spins around and leans against the lockers, trying to look like he wasn’t just fleeing from the queen of the drama geeks. 

“Sup?”

She gives him a look like he personally inserted a bad taste into her mouth. Then again, maybe that’s just her face. “What is the meaning of this?” she demands, and hey, Chad has never pretended that he is anything other than a smartass.

“What, so Troy’s the only jock allowed to be interested in musicals? It’s a free country, Evans.” It sounds wrong, using their last name to refer to Sharpay rather than Ryan, and Chad privately resolves never to do that again. Gross. 

She huffs. “As if you know the difference between a Tony award and Tony Hawk. You’re just doing this to—to—” Chad smirks, genuinely interested in what she’s gonna come up with. She clearly hadn’t thought this far ahead. “To desecrate the stage with your uncultured basketball sweat!”

“Careful there,” Chad says, grinning the smile that’s been getting him detention every month like clockwork since Pre-K. It’s an art form, okay, and he wants the principal’s collection of his yellow slips to end up in a gallery someday. Or beneath a signed ball in the Hall of Fame, more likely. “Maybe think of an insult for me that doesn’t also apply to Troy next time.” 

“Just keep your sale-rack t-shirts away from my theater,” she snaps, and flounces off.

“Hey, I’ll have you know these are custom-made!” Chad calls after her. Jeez. What a fucking mountain lion, right? And the claws are  _ out. _

*

“Sharpay accosted me in the hallway after homeroom,” he tells Ryan at lunch, which is, like, a thing that’s happening now. Maybe. The whole school is buzzing about him and Troy getting callbacks, and he’d just rather not deal with his teammates’ reactions right now. It won’t be as bad for Troy—he may be breaking an unspoken social code, but at least he’s doing it with a girl. And as far as Chad knows, Troy might think singing with Ryan rather than Sharpay Evans is a step too far. 

He had to wait a valuable three minutes for Ryan to cajole Kelsi out of the rehearsal room and to the cafeteria, though, which is apparently some sort of routine for them. A huge waste, if you ask him; twenty minutes is barely enough time to stuff his sandwich in his face and negotiate for one of Zeke’s mom’s baked goods with his remaining chips on a good day, much less talk about how they’re all scared shitless about the big game. 

Zeke, who has followed Chad in his impromptu exodus from the team table, sighs dreamily at the mention of Sharpay’s name, which is just disturbing. Ryan rolls his eyes and gestures with a perfectly manicured hand for Chad to go on. “She’s pissed about me infecting her stage with my jock cooties, or something,” he says with his mouth full. Zeke elbows him, because while Chad loves him, the guy gives more of a fuck about manners than can be healthy for any teenage guy, and Chad elbows him back harder, and they end up in a sideways tussling match that almost makes Chad forget to swallow entirely.

“She’s just mad because Ms. Darbus bent the rules for us,” Ryan says. “But she wouldn’t have had to bend the rules if Sharpay hadn’t stabbed me in the back with a hot pink, bedazzled knife, so.” He shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. Zeke looks maybe a little turned on, which is  _ so _ not something Chad wants to think about. At least Kelsi’s expression reflects the horror such a statement should, in Chad’s humble opinion, merit. 

“So you and Troy are both joining the musical now?” Zeke asks carefully. “Troy out of some misguided attempt to catch the new girl’s eye, and you because…?”

“I’m just trying to do Ryan a solid,” Chad says, shrugging. “I’m not planning on doing this in front of, like, people.” 

Kelsi glances between the three of them, biting her lip. “Chad,” she says finally, more gently than he’s heard anyone speak except for cartoon princesses and the therapist his mom took him to when his grandma died, “do you actually know how a pairs audition works?” 

Which is how he finds out that if he wants Ryan to get the part and kick Sharpay’s ass, he’ll have to resign himself to actually being in the play, too. Apparently they’re a package deal.

“That’s bullshit,” Chad says, shoving his Tupperware into his lunchbox. “The NBA doesn’t do trades like that.” 

Kelsi glances at Zeke like maybe she isn’t sure what the NBA is. Thankfully, Zeke intercedes before Chad can find out for sure. “Who wants cookies? Chocolate chip macadamia nut, and just this once, they’re on the house.”

There’s a moment of silent, shared bliss as they all take a bite. “You made these?” Ryan asks, crumbs clinging to his lower lip, and Chad’s about to say no, Zeke’s mom is the baker, when Zeke nods. 

“And a killer apple pandowdy last weekend. I want to perfect a crème brûlée someday, but my parents are a little skeptical about me trying the brûlée part in their kitchen.” 

Ryan nods along like he understands more than half of these words, which, hey, he’s probably had a private chef since birth, so chances are he does. Chad glances over at Zeke and tries not to look offended. “You never told me any of that, man.”

Zeke looks down at his napkin. “I was nervous about how people would react, you know? You and the other guys. But you’re doing the theater thing now, which is cool, so I figured it was safe.” 

“Oh,” Chad says, and then, at Zeke’s questioning look, “Cool. Well, you’re really talented, dude,” which makes Zeke beam. But it stings, honestly, knowing Zeke had thought he’d, what, make fun of him? Shove a basketball in his hands and say  _ Nope, back to your box _ —or something worse, something targeted and unforgivable? There’s a reason Chad hasn’t come out to his teammates. He just hadn’t realized that maybe some of them have been doing the same math. 

He says as much to his dad that evening when they’re making lasagna after some energetic post-practice one-on-one. Chad’s mom won’t be home until dinnertime, working late on paperwork after having to schedule an emergency session with a client earlier in the day, and the effort it would take to rope the twins into helping isn’t worth the limited results it would produce, not to mention the mess. Besides, he’s liked doing this since he was little, his and his dad’s specialty; something about stacking each layer in the familiar pattern, using the back of the spoon to smooth out the sauce, is almost more comforting than the meal itself. Plus, his dad makes a mean garlic bread. 

“Zeke told me about a hobby of his today,” Chad says as he stirs the pot of boiling pasta. “Baking. He’s really good at it. But he basically said he didn’t know if it was safe to let me in on it until he found out about the theater thing.”

Chad’s dad looks up from whatever it is he’s chopping. The ingredients of his homemade spaghetti sauce aren’t so much a secret as a legend. “Well, you know what your mom would say: you could look at it as a good thing, right, that your branching out emboldened him to be open about part of himself.”

“If I was looking for mom’s input, I would’ve asked her,” Chad teases. “Seriously though, none of her therapist speak, I’m asking your opinion as someone who was once a high school guy on the basketball team: am I screwing my life up if I do this audition, or have I been some sort of close-minded jerk until now?”

His dad chuckles. “I’m fairly certain those aren’t your only options, thank god.” He sticks a smaller spoon into the sauce to taste it, nods once to himself, and sets it in the sink. “Talking to Zeke certainly couldn’t hurt. I’m sure you were supportive when he told you, but you know how it goes—the second someone is out of your sight, walking around with something vulnerable like that, you’re gonna feel insecure no matter how much you trust them.” Chad nods. The suggestion that it isn’t personal, that Zeke would be nervous to tell anyone, actually does help him feel a little less hurt about the whole thing. 

“And,” his dad says, “I can’t speak to the remaining year and a half of your life as a high school student, but overall, you’re gonna be okay, Chad, musical or no musical. That doesn’t mean you don’t have a responsibility to your team, but—look, I’m not gonna lie, we both know you getting a scholarship to play ball at U of A would be great, financially. But we’re fortunate enough that you don’t have to do anything that’s gonna make you miserable; if you decide this is your last season, your mom and I will work it out. Heck, if you decide you want to study theater at CNM, more power to you.”

Chad laughs. “ _ So _ not gonna happen.” 

His dad shrugs. “Look, if you want to back out of the audition, tell Ryan you didn’t know what you were getting into, that’s fine. But you owe it to him to let him know now if that’s the case. Otherwise, me and my video camera will see you from the front row.”

Chad groans and points at him. “Hey, it’s not too late to take that Christmas present back.”

“Oh, it most certainly is,” his dad retorts. “Now come on, let’s layer this bad boy.”

His mom’s response, when he does ask later that night, is characteristically less optimistic, although no less supportive. “Just—promise me you’ll be careful,” she adds, kissing his forehead. “It sounds like Ryan has a hard enough time, and he has the buffer of being rich and white.” 

Chad nods quietly, and she smooths a hand over his durag, resting the comfortable weight of her palm on the top of his head, before leaving, closing the door quietly behind her. It’s not like he hasn’t thought of that; while he isn’t planning on jumping onstage in a t-shirt proclaiming his bisexuality, he knows people are gonna make certain assumptions—would make them based on the singing alone, much less the fact that it’s a romantic duet with another guy. Ryan acts like nothing fazes him, aside from maybe Troy’s clothing choices, but it’s not like Chad hasn’t noticed that his original estimation that Ryan’s only friend was his sister was only off by a factor of one. 

Well, he’s got Chad now, in addition to Kelsi. And Zeke, apparently. Chad wonders if he himself can live with that, if it comes down to it. Troy never responded to his “hey dude what the fuck” text yesterday; Chad flips his phone open and shut absently, wondering if he should reach out again. He scrolls to Zeke’s contact instead and presses the call button.

Zeke picks up after the second ring. “Hey, man,” Chad says, swallowing. “I just… wanted to say I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me about the baking thing. That had to be rough, man, and I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of asshole.” 

“I know you’re not,” Zeke says. “And thanks, seriously. That means a lot to me.”

Chad rolls onto his back and looks up at his ceiling. He used to be kind of uncomfortable about Zeke’s openness, honestly, how he could just say stuff like that, but he’s used to it by now. Respects it, even. “You think people are gonna flip out about the singing thing?”

There’s a crackle in the speaker as Zeke exhales hard. “Maybe,” he admits. “If Coach gives you a hard time, though, I’ll tell him to cut it out. You’ve never given less than a hundred and ten percent to the team.” 

“Thanks, man,” Chad says, unexpectedly choked up. “I don’t know, I just—I guess people might be threatened, right? By me trying to do shit that isn’t  _ my _ shit. Sharpay already made it clear that she is. But I’m not trying to oust her from her own club, you know, or kick anybody else out of whatever their niche is. I’m just trying to help out a friend.”

Zeke makes a noise of agreement, then is quiet for a long pause. “It’s okay if that’s not the only reason you’re doing it,” he says finally.

“What, like if I’m trying to—to get Evans’s attention the way Troy is trying to get the new girl’s?”

“Sure, yeah,” Zeke says, in a  _ you said it, not me _ type of tone, “but I meant more like, if you actually want to sing, and dance, and stuff. It’s okay if you enjoy it.”

“Oh,” Chad says, and just sits with that for a minute.

“We still down for me to kick your ass after practice Friday?” Zeke asks, and Chad laughs.

“In your dreams, dude.”

He falls asleep without pulling up Ryan’s number. He already knows he isn’t going to back out.

*

“One week until callbacks,” Kelsi says before school the next morning, entirely too brightly, and begins to outline a practice—sorry,  _ rehearsal _ —schedule that makes Chad’s head spin. He’s been accused by many a teacher of liking the sound of his own voice a little too much, but this is a bit excessive even for him. Still, he has to admit it’s kind of fun; watching Ryan and Kelsi in their element is entertaining, even though it also makes him kind of self-conscious. 

Ryan’s developed a whole set of steps for the song, something simplistic and unintimidating to Chad, with his vast lack of experience, that somehow still manages to look elegant and professional in the recording Kelsi films Monday morning. “Dude, you’re kind of a genius,” Chad says, watching his body move in ways he never would’ve imagined it could. Ryan had seamlessly woven and adapted moves he was used to from basketball into the dance, so it really doesn’t feel like dancing at all but something far more natural and familiar.

Ryan flushes. “I’m failing two classes,” he protests, but Chad shakes his head.

“No, I’m serious. Didn’t anyone ever tell you there are multiple kinds of intelligence?” he asks, silently thanking his mom for all her speeches on the topic when he struggled with assignments as a kid. Kelsi clears her throat pointedly, and Ryan rolls her eyes at her.

“Yeah, once or twice,” he says, still looking shocked. Chad presses play on the video again, filled with a surprising warmth. He’s—proud of himself, honestly. Okay, so Troy hasn’t responded to his texts other than with a quick  _ can’t talk right now, rehearsal  _ Saturday night, and half the team has stopped changing in the locker room at the same time as him even though he still works his ass off on the court, and Zeke had to tell Coach to cut it out after one too many comments about twinkletoes, but—they look good.  _ He  _ looks good, fluid and artsy in a way he’ll probably never learn the right words for, and happy in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.


	4. Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone for reading! <3

Taylor is in the practice room when Chad gets there for his individual session with Kelsi before school Wednesday morning. She’s sitting on the piano bench beside Kelsi, their knees touching, but stands when he comes in. “I can’t make it to the game,” she tells him out of nowhere. “Scholastic Decathlon competition. But Gabriella and I will be at the callbacks, and I, at least, will be rooting for you.”

“Oh—uh, thanks,” he stammers, trying not to look as surprised as he feels and probably failing spectacularly. He hasn’t expected Taylor to be at one of his games since the end of their awkward and short-lived relationship freshman year, and she hasn’t offered. Basketball has never been her thing, anyway. “Good luck at the decathlon, I know you’ll crush it.”

She smiles, a softer look than she’s ever given him before, and then stands a little taller, her business face on. “Listen, Chad, I—I wanted to apologize. I misjudged you.”

There went trying to look normal. “Huh?” 

“I thought all jocks were brainless, homophobic buffoons,” she elaborates, which, ouch. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. “And while I certainly had evidence for those conclusions, it wasn’t fair to make a unilateral judgement, and doing so made me—well, not as prejudiced as I assumed you were, but definitely a jerk.”

“Oh,” Chad says, feeling like he’s going to prove her former opinion right with the way he keeps repeating the same three syllables, “Um. Thanks.” He takes a breath, feeling like he owes her something deeper after what she’s just said, something real, but god if it doesn’t scare him to sort through all the possible ways to say  _ I promise you’re right, you were wrong about me before, there’s more here. _ The thing no one else seems to get about Taylor, though, the reason he’s spent all of high school telling every guy who calls her a bitch that they can either close their mouth or get a fist through their teeth, long after he ever thought he was in love with her, is that she’s maybe the kindest person he’s ever met, at her core. She tries to hide it beneath twenty layers of bullshit and an affected sense of superiority, stacking sarcasm over her vulnerabilities the same way he does, but he’s seen how relieved she is to tell herself mercy is the empirically logical choice enough times that he can’t be convinced otherwise. 

So she chooses it here, too, makes things easy on him with only the slimmest evidence that he won’t make her regret it, an act based on faith rather than data: she leans down and kisses Kelsi’s cheek, squeezes her shoulder before walking to the door. 

“Hey,” Chad calls after her, and she turns, halfway into the hall. “You joining us for lunch?” 

She looks at him, considering. “Is there room for Gabriella and Martha at your table?” she asks, and he nods. “Alright,” she says, giving him that small, satisfied smile she has, and he swallows.

“Your number still the same?” he blurts, and she blinks.

“Um—yeah.”

He nods. “I just, uh. I might need some advice about something. If that’s okay.”

Taylor, merciful again, doesn’t point out how long it’s been since they’ve had a real conversation, if they’d ever had any to begin with. Somehow, that fact doesn’t change that she’s the person he trusts most with this, after maybe Zeke. She’s the smartest person he knows, and she won’t bullshit him, and she’s pretty much just shown him that she’ll get it.

Her face softens again for as long as it takes her to say, “Of course, Chad,” and then she’s got her game face back, turning into the hallway and off to command her troops, probably to time how quickly they can solve equations that’d make Chad’s head spin or something equally revolting. He turns back to the piano to start their warm-ups, feeling something light and happy fit its way inside his chest in the cracks between his nerves.

_ so im maybe scared shitless abt the callback thing, _ he texts Taylor during geometry. She doesn’t respond until the class change, like the fucking nerd she is. Probably got the fear of god and Principal Matsui put in her by that incredibly brief stint in detention.

_ Because of the singing? _

_ no,  _ he types, swerving to avoid getting hit in the head by an open locker,  _ bc of who im singing with.  _ He takes a deep breath, fumbles at the keys.  _ im kinda into evans,  _ he admits, an understatement he’s sure she’ll catch.  _ what if its like super obvious??? _

_ You’re singing a romantic duet,  _ she points out.  _ Maybe people will just think you’re a good actor.  _

_ yeah right,  _ he responds, at which point Taylor takes it upon herself to invite herself over after school to talk “face to face, where I don’t have to witness your spelling errors.” Practice gets out late tonight, since it’s the last one before the big game, but she isn’t deterred. And sure enough, Chad’s doorbell rings at 8:30, just as he’s getting out the shower. He’s surprised, when he opens the door, to see Zeke with her.

“Figured you could use some backup,” Zeke says, clapping him on the shoulder. Taylor rolls her eyes. “I brought scones.” 

“You’re my hero,” Chad says earnestly, and Zeke grins.

“So, what are you afraid of,” Taylor asks once they’re all sprawled on Chad’s bed, him and Zeke getting crumbs everywhere and her somehow managing not to drop a single speck, “that Ryan will know you like him, or that everyone else will?”

Chad frowns. “Both, I guess? Like, shit’s been—well, it’s been weird at practice,” he admits, looking at Zeke for confirmation, who nods, “but it’s nothing I wasn’t prepared for. I mean, it sucks, but I can deal. I don’t think that’ll get much worse based on me actually singing with a guy rather than just the thought of it, and it’s not like any of them will be there—yeah, except you,” he adds at Zeke’s noise of protest. “The student body as a whole… like, I guess I’d better get used to half of them not wanting to return my high fives or whatever, but it’s no real loss. But if I get up there and spill my guts and Ryan gets freaked out by it… that would be.”

Taylor nods slowly. “I mean, you’ve practiced together, right? So he knows how you look at him when you sing this romantic stuff and everything.”

“This is why they’re gonna pay you the big bucks,” Chad sighs, “to point out to idiots like me how we’re already fucked without realizing it.” Taylor punches him lightly in the arm and laughs.

“I think he likes you,” Zeke pipes up, and they both turn to look at him. He takes another bite of scone and shrugs. “He’s never auditioned with anyone besides Sharpay before. There’s gotta be  _ something  _ special.”

“Nah, I was just there,” Chad says, shaking his head. “Wrong place, wrong time, and the next thing you know, you’re having to convince a man you really don’t need to wear sparkles.” Taylor and Seke exchange an amused look, and he runs a hand over his face. “What if I fuck up on stage, and then Ryan doesn’t get the part?” he asks, palm still splayed over his face and muffling the words.

“Oh, sweetie,” Taylor says, affectionately condescending in that way of hers, and Zeke chuckles. “You’ll be fine,” she says more seriously, “and even if you aren’t, it’ll be okay. Like, if you lose on Friday, will you regret spending time singing instead of shooting…” she trails off. 

“Free throws,” Zeke supplies, and Taylor nods.

“That.”

Chad thinks about it for a minute. “No,” he admits, hoping Zeke won’t be mad or think he’s any less dedicated to the team, but when he looks over, Zeke is beaming.

“So it was already worth doing,” Taylor says firmly. “Ryan wouldn’t even be able to audition if it weren’t for you, and if that isn’t good enough for him, then he’s not good enough for you.”

Chad swallows hard, unexpectedly touched. Taylor squeezes his hand. 

“I’ve got Decathlon practice in the morning, so I need to get going, but I’ll see you at lunch, okay? Text me if you need anything.” He nods. “It’s going to be fine, Chad,” she assures him again, and somehow, he believes her.

“I’m really proud of you, dude,” Zeke says before he, too, heads home, and Chad coughs, trying not to show how choked up that makes him. “See you out there tomorrow. Break a leg.”

Chad nods, and hopes to god that doesn’t become literal.

The next day is a blur; he’s even more distracted than usual in class, and he’s more interested in practicing the routine in his head than eating during lunch. He’s never been this nervous before a game, but then, those have never felt like a performance; the crowd is there in his peripheral vision, can encourage or distract him on occasion, but it’s a far secondary concern compared to the other people on the court, the ball and the goal and how to get his team to bring the two together. The cheers are nice, but they aren’t, like, the point. 

When he gets onstage, it’ll be pretty much impossible to ignore everybody staring at him.

He’s trying very hard not to think about this in the dressing room at three o’clock when Troy walks in. 

“Hey, man,” Chad says, torn between warmth and wariness. So sue him, he misses the asshole.

“Hey,” Troy says, brow furrowed in vague confusion. Or irritation, maybe. Chad wonders when the guy he used to consider his best friend got so damn hard to read.

“Break a leg out there,” Chad offers, and Troy outright frowns.

“Why are you doing this, man?” Troy asks. “I need this. Like, it’s been surprisingly fun, it matters to me, but I also need it in order to show Gabriella that I’m not just some one-dimensional sports guy—I really like her, Chad,” he says, running a hand through his hair the way he does when he’s at his most angsty. Chad can’t believe this shit. Like, Troy is not the only one here with feelings, okay, or an unexpected attachment to the bizarre hobby he picked up under complicated circumstances, or a fucking crush.

“Yeah, well, I really like him, too, Troy. I guess maybe it didn’t occur to you that I wouldn’t take all the shit I’m getting from the team, from  _ your dad,  _ for just anyone, but I wouldn’t—you do something kinda gay, and everyone’s fine, because you’re doing it for a girl, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not getting away with it that easily. And it’s whatever, you know, it’s worth it, because—singing with him, and whatever, it’s the best I’ve felt maybe ever.” Chad turns, then, to do the whole dramatic thing and walk out on that note—hanging around the theater kids is maybe rubbing off on him—and freezes, eyes locked with Ryan, hovering in the doorway.

Ryan clears his throat. “Ten minutes to curtain,” he says, and Troy nods once and leaves without acknowledging Chad. Ryan steps inside, closing the door behind him. Chad looks at him nervously.

“Did you really mean all that?” Ryan asks, more cautious than Chad’s ever seen him, and Chad nods.

“Yeah, man. I—yeah.” Chad takes a breath. No point backing down now. “I wasn’t expecting to like it, you know? I was just doing it because, like, you needed help, and you deserved a shot at this, so,” he shrugs. “But singing with you, it’s like, I’m not just the school’s second-best basketball player anymore, you know? I—I guess I didn’t know I needed that.”

“You’re so much more than that, Chad,” Ryan says, and Chad has seen so many of his bright and energetic smiles and been wowed by them every time, but this one is soft and tender in a way that makes him hope like never before. Maybe Zeke was onto something. “You’re—god, you’re literally the most loyal friend I’ve ever met, even when people don’t deserve it, and you always know how to lift people’s spirits, and you’ve got this healthy disrespect for authority and all but when someone earns your full attention and appreciation, it’s—it’s fucking intoxicating. You risked, like, your entire social status to help me before we even knew each other very well just because you felt like it was the right thing to do, like I deserved a shot at something I cared about, and I—no one’s ever done something like that for me.”

Ryan, Chad has learned over the beginning of the new year, is profoundly lonely—grateful for and dedicated to his friendship with Kelsi, sure, but too much of a social butterfly at heart to be fully sated by it. Just because the Evans twins walk around like they own the place doesn’t mean they’re popular; Sharpay, at least, people are afraid of, but Ryan they mostly just ignore. That’s getting better, Chad hopes, with Zeke and Taylor and Martha and maybe even Gabriella, but it doesn’t mean Chad’s heart doesn’t, like, break a little at the thought that no one’s ever done anything for Ryan other than throw money at his problems. There are worse things in the world, sure, but it’s still kinda sad.

So, of course, Chad deflects. “Careful, Evans, a guy might get the wrong idea,” he says, grinning, and Ryan laughs.

“It wouldn’t be wrong,” he says, stepping closer, into Chad’s space, and reaching up to adjust the collar on the button down he and Kelsi managed to convince him to wear. He looks up, meets Chad’s eyes. “I really like you, too.”

And it’s not like Chad didn’t see that coming, right, with the way it was prefaced, but that doesn’t stop his heart from doing something fast and concerning when he hears it.

Ryan leans forward a little bit, and Chad is about to say screw it and ask to kiss him in the fucking East High dressing room, when the speaker on the ceiling crackles with Darbus’s welcome speech to the students who’ve come to watch the callbacks. “Shit,” Chad says, still smiling despite himself, “I guess that’s our cue, huh?” and Ryan presses their foreheads together for a long moment before grabbing his hand and leading him to the wings. 

Troy’s audition is good, from what Chad can see from backstage. Like, it’s very clearly a Sharpay Show that he’s just been deemed useful enough to tag along for, and Chad kind of wants to gouge his eyes out afterwards, but from a technical perspective—based on what little Chad knows about all that—it’s really good. Chad can’t see Darbus from where they’re standing, but he’s sure she’s doing her little dancing in place thing and smiling, and the scattering of students who’ve stayed to watch a couple of jocks make fools of themselves clap really hard at the end, so. Tough act to follow on all counts. 

Sharpay prances past them without acknowledging either of them. “Good job,” Chad says when Troy walks by behind her, because yeah, Troy was a major dick earlier, but Troy’s been a selfish asshole on occasion since they were six, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have, like, any redeeming qualities to speak of. “Seriously, man,” Chad says when he stops. 

Troy turns to look at him, smiles a little when he sees how he and Ryan are holding hands, a shadow of the ribbing Chad’s sure he’ll get later if they manage to sort all their shit out. “Thanks,” he says. “Uh, break a leg.”

Chad nods in acknowledgment, and then it’s showtime.

There are a lot more people than he was expecting, and he shoots a nervous glance at Ryan, who meets his gaze and gives him an almost imperceptible nod. They’d talked about this once a week ago, when they’d first started rehearsing and Chad was positive he was going to fall on his ass in front of way too many of his peers.

“What if I freeze up?” he’d asked, and Ryan had shaken his head. 

“You won’t,” he’d said, more confident in Chad’s musical abilities than Chad had ever been in even his chances of making a three-pointer. His faith was energizing, honestly— _ gives me strength,  _ Chad had thought, laughing at himself. Maybe Kelsi knew what she was talking about. “Look, if you get overwhelmed, just look at me, okay? Tune everybody else out. It’ll be like the first time we sang together, yeah? You remember?”

Chad had nodded, picturing the empty theater and Ryan’s shocked gaze on him as Chad had hit every note, the comfort with which they’d sang to each other that they were what they’d been looking for—lyrics that were so far from anything Chad had said out loud to anyone at the time it was almost laughable. 

Chad thinks about that now, the way Ryan had looked at him in almost awe, the warmth threatening at Chad’s cheeks when Ryan had started singing  _ to _ him rather than just beside him. He raises the mic to his mouth, and on cue, he sings.

“We’re soarin’, flyin’, there’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach.”

“If we’re trying,” Ryan joins in, stepping forward, “yeah, we’re breaking free.” 

Chad lets his body carry him through the choreography he’s been practicing all week; he knows a thing or two about muscle memory, and it’s as natural as shooting a layup to take Ryan’s hand at the right beat, turn here, step wider there. The lights help, honestly, not giving him the chance to obsess over the small crowd even if he wanted to, and he lets go of even his self-awareness of how cliché the act itself is and loses himself in the music. It’s exhilarating, and when Kelsi’s playing slows for the final lyrics, Chad is kind of sad it’s almost over.

“You know the world can see us in a way that's different than who we are,” he and Ryan sing together, coming back together closer than at the beginning of the song, their characters having broken away from fear and societal expectations and everyone else’s thoughts of them. They know the world can see them, know the world is wrong about them, but that doesn’t weigh on them in the way it did at the beginning of the song. They’re free.

Chad feels pretty damn free, too. 


	5. Epilogue

Some PTA moms get pissed about Darbus casting two boys as romantic leads in a high school play, but before Chad’s mom can give them an earful about how their bigotry will negatively affect their kids’ psychological development, Principal Matsui does an interview with the local press and they realize it’s a lost cause. It’s a load of bullshit, of course, stuff about the importance of defying stereotypes and an interdisciplinary education that makes Taylor snort and mutter a bunch of insults Chad doesn’t really understand—and sure, he’s given more than one queer couple detention for barely-present PDA while their cis straight peers make out against the lockers, but it turns out Principal Matsui is a smart man, knows when to count his losses and accept a check for his woefully-underfunded arts department and tell any scandalized suburbanites that he respects his teachers’ creative independence.

It’s five minutes after the night’s final close of the curtain in the newly-christened Evans Auditorium, and Chad is at Ryan’s stage door, flowers in hand. His mom had raised her eyebrows at the choice but not commented, even though Chad is well aware that she knows all about that sort of thing, symbolism or whatever, but he knew what he was doing (well, Zeke knew, and had pulled it up online in the computer lab to prove it). Still, there are worse things to give somebody than “Regard & Unequalled Love,” and they’re Ryan’s favorite, so. 

Ryan beams when he opens the door, cradles the pot between his palms and sets it gently on the counter in front of the mirror, which was a disaster area at five minutes to curtain but has somehow already mostly been fixed, makeup and hair gel and bobby pins all shuffled into their correct containers and laid out to do it all over again tomorrow afternoon. “No one’s ever brought me flowers except my parents,” he says, soft and a little awed, and yeah, there’s a massive ostentatious bouquet of pink and white roses already by the makeup brushes. 

Chad shrugs, but he’s grinning, too. “First time for everything.”

“You killed it,” Ryan says, opening his arms, and the next hour is bound to be a blur of cast photos and congratulations from people’s parents and ribbing from the guys from the team who came, but for now, Chad lets Ryan hold him, opening-night adrenaline still racing through his veins, and doesn’t even care if he gets glitter on his face. 

They’ve finally been released from the crowd of attendees—“Adoring fans,” Ryan says—and are about to make their sweet, sweet escape to acquire some waffles when a familiar voice stops Chad in his tracks.

“Danforth!” 

Chad turns. “Yes, Coach?” Not his coach anymore, technically, but not his best friend’s father anymore either. Still, the habit is hard to kick, like answering Troy’s calls and staring at him over a slice of pizza while he has a relationship crisis once a month. 

“Good game,” Coach Bolton says, and Chad blinks. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Coach runs a hand through his hair, looking at the scuffed floor of the school hallway, the culmination of thirty years of teenagers’ tennis shoes. “Listen, uh, I’m sorry if I was a little hard on you, at the end of the season,” he says. “Troy told me I went overboard, and that it wasn’t cool of me. I’m, uh—well, the Wildcats couldn’t have won the championship without you, so I guess I was wrong about getting involved with the theater team.” 

Chad’s mouth dropped open of its own accord somewhere around halfway through the first sentence, and he tries now to close it. It doesn’t work. “Thank you,” he says finally, swallowing, because he knows from his mom that an apology isn’t going to erase the, like, trauma of it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it. 

“I’ll see you at tryouts this fall?” he asks, looking awkwardly hopeful, which Chad is both flattered and freaked out by. 

“Sure thing,” he confirms, and Coach looks relieved, which is downright creepy. 

“Huh,” Ryan says from beside him after Coach is out of earshot, and that about sums it up. Chad takes his hand with a casualness that’s betrayed by his continued inner thrill at being able to do that, and as they head to the parking lot, he’s surprised to find a wild and expansive hope inside his chest despite the bittersweetness of them being so close to the end of something they’ve worked on for so long, something that’s become so important to him. It doesn’t feel like as much of a loss as it could, though, not with baseball season starting soon and the spring musicale closer than it seems on the horizon, and then an entire summer of crashing Ryan’s family’s obnoxious rich people hangout. It isn’t the end when the play is over, not really; it feels more like the start of something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> world’s cheesiest reference, i know, but i couldn’t resist. i’m on tumblr @campgender if you want to watch me obsess over DCOMs in real time!
> 
> thank you so much for reading & for all the love this fic has received so far! i have 4 other hsm fics (2 multichapters & 2 oneshots) if you’re interested in more of my work, as well as equally gay fics for halloweentown & lemonade mouth. and be on the lookout for the first chapter of a new ryan/chad wip later this weekend, an au of a movie that starts with camp & ends with rock ;)


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